


Chance Taken

by norgbelulah



Category: Justified
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winona lies about everything and she doesn’t speak a word about strange, funny, Kentucky boys in cowboy hats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abraxas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abraxas/gifts).



> Written for [info]abraxas for the holiday gift fic meme. I love this fic, btw. Hope you enjoy. <3 Happy Holidays AGAIN, bb.

Winona is home to visit her mother. She shouldn’t say home, she should say Lexington.

If she doesn’t come back once a year her mother threatens to fly out to Salt Lake for two weeks. Thank God, Mama doesn’t insist on it being Christmas when she does come.

So, she goes home in April, a general time, when nothing important usually happens and most of the college kids are down in Cancun or Miami Beach. She stays with her Mama, goes shopping, goes out to lunch, dinner to a nice place once, and she endures all of the petty gossiping and the passive aggressive questions about her life, her future, and her man.

Winona lies about everything and she doesn’t speak a word about strange, funny, Kentucky boys in cowboy hats.

It’s Mama’s fault Winona gets dragged out on Saturday night when her flight leaves early on Sunday. Lizzie Spears got wind that Winona was home because their mamas are friends from the church women’s book club and called her up on the home phone. Winona couldn’t say no with Mama listening on the line in the bedroom.

So, she goes out with Lizzie and her work friends, all paralegals downtown, who look down on her because she’s only a court reporter and didn’t get her goddamn associates’ or bachelor’s in pouring coffee and flirting with lawyers. She smiles when they say they want to go dancing and she strains to keep it on when she see the shitty little club they bring her to.

It’s on the grittier end of the restaurant and bar track downtown and there’s a burly bouncer just letting anyone who wants in off the street. She eyes Lizzie for a second and her old friend, former cheerleader, gives her a really great fake smile. “The students are all outta town, Winny. Usually the line’s down the block, I swear. But, it’ll be fine. And, hey, look on the bright side; now we won’t have to wait.”

And Winona doesn’t say that neither will all the drug dealers and date rapists who might usually get passed up for being shady.

They go in, they get drinks, and Winona keeps both eyes on hers. Lizzie and her friends get on the dance floor immediately. Winona follows them, not wanting to seem like she’s not with anybody, and they huddle in a little group, keeping the creepers away from each other until they’re all drunk enough not to care anymore. Winona knows she can hold her liquor better than most of these cosmo-sipping bitches, so she leaves for another drink just as a guy in a dirty baseball cap and a beater approaches, eyeing Lizzie’s friend Sandra like she’s prime meat for grinding.

After Winona orders another Jack, straight this time, no coke, she looks down the bar, waiting for her drink to come up. There’s a guy, sort of next to her, a couple empty chairs down. He’s wearing a dark, plain t-shirt, that exposes the black lines of a tattoo on his upper arm, and some dark jeans. He’s skinny, fit, and there’s something she likes about his face. There’s something in it that reminds her of a cowboy, or an outlaw, rough and deep.

He’s nursing a glass of something brown and when her drink is delivered, Winona sidles down to him.

“Hi,” she says real friendly, and she must be more drunk than she thought because she never does this.

“Evening, miss,” he says, real polite, but with a wary eye. His skin is tanned and his eyes sort of glitter in the dim light of the bar.

“You don’t dance?” she asks.

He smiles, grins really, like he’s got some kind of secret. “Oh I dance, miss. I dance plenty, and well. I just don’t dance to this music. I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands.” He spreads them out away from his glass, splaying his fingers wide. He has fine hands, she thinks, slender and strong-looking.

Winona tilts her head at him, feeling the stray hairs from her up-do fall across her face. “That’s the best part, though,” she says slyly. “You put ‘em on a pretty girl, if she’ll let you.”

“How do I know that? If she’ll let me or not?”

“Now, that’s the worst part,” she grins, “You gotta take a chance on her.”

He just looks at her and smiles, it makes her want to squirm in her seat.

Winona downs her drink fast because she doesn’t want to dance with it in her hand anymore. She gets up and she looks at him, hard, as she walks back to the floor, but she doesn’t go back to Lizzie and her friends.

She stops in the middle of the dance floor and starts to move. The song is trash, some techno thing that she can’t understand the repetitive lyrics to, but there’s a strong beat, fast and loud and her pace, her heartbeat, sinks up with it as the jack hits her hard. If she wasn’t drunk before, she is now.

But she can still feel it when he comes up to her from behind and puts his hands on her hips, his strong hands, with slender fingers. She puts her hands over his, backing up slow into him, showing him her rhythm. He picks it up fast and they press close together.

He breathes hot past her ear and she shivers. She feels him bend, press his lips against her neck. It’s warm and wet and Winona’s heart is pounding. She reaches up, drags her hand around the back of his neck, her fingers through his hair. His hand is rough at her hip, the other slipping up to clasp her elbow. “My name is Boyd,” he says, low, but loud enough that she can hear him.

She doesn’t say anything and he kisses her neck again. Winona thinks about Raylan.

She hasn’t thought his name to herself much before. She usually thinks of him as the Cowboy, or Deputy, or the Marshal, because he is those things and she’s only seen him twice, besides the time they met at the bar. She’d thought his name was kind of funny before, but now that she’s back in Kentucky and dancing with a man named Boyd, it seems to make perfect, beautiful sense. It’s his hands she wants, she tells herself, his kisses, and not this dark stranger’s.

She turns around, faces him so he doesn’t kiss her again. “I ain’t from here any more,” she says.

He smiles, all teeth, shining white under the black lights. “I was never from here.”

She likes his smile, too much, and she makes herself say, “I’m goin’ back to Utah tomorrow. I got a man there.”

He takes his hands off her immediately and she likes that too. She tries to look sorry, but can’t quite reach the proper level of contrition. “He a mormon, like they are out there?” He crosses his arms and there’s something darker in his eyes.

She doesn’t even think about why he bothered to ask, she just laughs and shakes her head. “He’s a Kentucky boy, funny enough. From coal-country. He says miners don’t have any religion. They pray to the laws of gravity.”

Boyd, she really does like the name, tilts his head a little and squints at her. “The laws of gravity,” he repeats, like he’s praying too, like he forgot how for a long time, and then he smiles at her, soft and forgiving. “And Chance too, I expect.”

“Huh?”

“Miners,” he says patiently, “They pray to gravity and wish for good fortune. Take a chance when you ride the cart down into a shaft like you take a chance when you ask a pretty girl to dance.”

“Oh,” she smiles, “Yeah, I expect that too.” She toys with the cheap rings on her fingers, not knowing what to do with her hands. She’s got to keep them busy so they don’t stray back to him. She looks back where Lizzie and her friends are dancing, some real close with other guys in the bar. Winona doesn’t want to go back to that. She glances toward the door.

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

She shakes her head. She didn’t expect him to be this kind, she feels terrible, she feels dizzy. She wants him, but she thinks she’s confusing him with another man, a man she barely knows.

His hand comes solidly under her elbow and she stares up at him, eyes wide. “I’ll call you a cab,” he says softly. She goes with him.

He doesn’t let go of her arm and she feels steadier for it.

They wait in silence for a free cab, which are few in Lexington because everybody drives, and he looks at her like he wants to say something.

“I’m sorry,” she says as a blessedly empty cab pulls up and he smiles at her. He raises his hand to the driver. “It was stupid, Boyd, I feel terrible.”

She can tell he likes that she called him that. He opens the door to the cab and motions her forward into it, when she pauses just before getting in his hand comes to rest on her hip. “It’s nothing,” he says, and pauses.

“Winona,” she supplies and his smile is brilliant.

He presses a soft kiss to her cheek and speaks lowly into her ear. “You got a good man there, Winona. He’ll take care of you, if you let him.” And he pushes her into the cab

She doesn’t get a chance to ask him how he knows. But she’ll wonder every once in a while until she hears about a man named Boyd Crowder during a deposition and how he dug coal with a US Marshal when they were both nineteen.


End file.
